


Chocolate and Ashes

by averincm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Romance, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-03 15:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averincm/pseuds/averincm
Summary: After a summer away at a werewolf colony in the French Pyrenees, Remus must handle the fallout of the tragic events that ended his 6th year. The werewolf isolated himself—with Dumbledore's help—putting strain one his once close-knit relationships. A guilty Remus tries to forgive and survive in a dark and changing world, but he's struggling, as are all of the other Marauders. RL/SB, JP/LE no bashing.





	1. Eight Summer Letters

> _"You asked who’s good, I think it’s me_  
>  _I barked real loud right at that tree_  
>  _it smells like someone else, you see—_  
>  _a someone who’s not us or we!_
> 
> _"You asked who’s good, it’s hard to say_  
>  _let’s find out in the park someday_  
>  _you’ll teach me tricks and how to stay_  
>  _and after that, we’ll play play play!_
> 
> _“You asked who’s good, I don’t quite know_  
>  _and on our walks you go so slow_  
>  _it doesn’t matter to me though_  
>  _as long as you’re the one I tow!_
> 
> _“You asked who’s good, it’s tough to call_  
>  _this one time you fake threw the ball_  
>  _this other time I made you fal_ l  
>  _‘cuz I was big and you were small!_
> 
> _“You asked who’s good, I think it’s you_  
>  _I think that all this time I knew_  
>  _and even though the years were few_  
>  _I loved them so, and love you too!”_
> 
> —charles they, “Who’s Good?”

### Eight Summer Letters

_Lupin, Remus John, Wherever he might be, August 23rd, 1977_

__

_Dear Moony,_

_I don’t know what to write anymore, Remus._

_Lily’s started writing me to ask if I’ve gotten anything from you. She’s worried sick about you—she has to be, if she’s owling me of all people._

_I get it._

_You have the right to put us through Hell and back with what you’ve been through and what we did._

_Don’t take it out on her. From what I gather, she’s going through enough on her own without one of her closest friends abandoning her._

_Please. Please._

_I know that you got our other letters. If there’s one thing you take out of this, just write Lily back._

_For her sake._

_The rest of us can cope until the start of the term. I really hope you’re coming back this year. Even if you don’t want to be around us anymore, don’t let us push you out of Hogwarts. You’re the most brilliant bloke I know. Even if it doesn’t mean much because we didn’t say it before._

_And, if it matters at all, Dumbledore sent me a letter. I’m going to be Head Boy._

__

__

_Your Faithful Friend, James Potter 5 Manor Drive, Guildford, Surrey, Great Britain_

__

Remus eyed the letter briefly before adding it to the ever-growing (if disheveled) pile of parchment on his desk. He sat back in his chair, and in sequence, he: threw back his head; closed his eyes; exhaled, deep; and stared up at the low wooden ceiling, just as he had for many nights before. And, just as he had done those many nights, he wished that he was somewhere else. Someone else. A different time or place or person, where he could lose himself in something or someone or somewhere interesting.

He wasn’t being fair to the simple one-room cabin. It’d served him well over the past month or so. It was warm and dry. It had a bed that bore the terrible things done on it without complaint, a comfortable chair (not unlike the bed), and a desk (not unlike the chair). If he’d wanted anything else for the cabin—within reason—he could’ve asked one of the Denmothers and had it for himself within a few days.

The prospect of returning to a cozy cabin every night had enticed him in the beginning. After hours of prowling the forest and helping out in the village each day after a lifetime of libraries and pastries, Remus had wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the mostly-soft mattress and dive into a good book until sleep took him; and that was exactly what he did the first few days.

Until the first letter arrived.

The inside of Remus’s left eyelid itched.

Remus opened his eyes. He shuffled through the stack of letters, laying eight of them out over his desk with the utmost care, the rest left untouched. His hands moved with a precise efficiency, as though acid or silver lined their edges and might bite at his hands if he handled them too long or too wildly. He watched them even. They—the letters, that is—they couldn’t move on their own.

After another heavy breath, Remus reached for the third letter in the chronology.

_Lupin, Remus John, 18 Junction Lane, Wickham, Hampshire, Great Britain July 7th, 1977_

__

_Remus,_

_I’m the foulest idiot in the world. I’m the worst friend you could’ve ever made. I don’t even deserve to be called your friend, or a friend to anyone for that matter, for what I did._

_I know I told you I was sorry more times than you can count, and that’s unlikely to happen, because you’re the smartest bloke we never deserved. But I’m going to keep saying I’m sorry until my quill snaps and my teeth fall out. I’m going to keep saying sorry, even though I’m never going to forgive myself for betraying one of my dearest friends over a fit of anger I tried to play off as a joke. I’m never going to forget the biggest mistake I’ve ever made._

_You were there for me when I finally stood up to my old mother and father. I remember. It was right after a Full, a Full that you had to do alone, but you treated me like I was the one who was really hurting even though you were bleeding through your bloody ribs. You, James, and Peter kept me alive. I would’ve ruined myself without you lot putting me back together. You’re one of the only bright things in my life, Remus, and I did something that I can’t take back._

_I’m furious with myself._

_I’m furious with world._

_I wish you were furious with me. I kept wishing that you’d scream at me, curse me, beat the piss out of me, because then I’d know how you feel. I’d know that you were feeling anything, anything at all about me, rather than this nothing. I’d know we’d be feeling the same thing at the same time for once, instead of always missing each other by minutes. Even if that feeling were anger._

_Me and my Black temper. I’ve lost the only thing I cared about in the whole world because I couldn’t keep my stupid, stupid emotions under control._

_I’d give anything to go back and change it. I’d steal the world for you, Remus. You know I would._

_It plays over and over and over and over again in my head and I can’t stop it playing. I want to lose myself somewhere far away when I think about it. I want to start walking somewhere and never stop._

_I think the worst part is that I thought I was being funny. I was so upset and full of petty rage that I made you worth nothing more than some sick stupid bloody punchline. I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t think about how I was about to throw your future away. Your life away. Us away. All I wanted was to get back at Snape. I can’t forgive myself, because I didn’t think that my so-called joke was an issue until I told Peter._

_If he hadn’t run to James, I don’t know what I would’ve done._

_There’s so much more that I ruined for you._

_That’s why I can’t forgive myself. That’s why I know you can’t forgive me._

_I miss you._

_Please hurt me._

__

_Sirius 5 Manor Drive, Guildford, Surrey, Great Britain_

Remus carefully placed Sirius’ letter in its proper place, not in the basket with the others. That one was special, and there was a system. One couldn’t simply read the letters as written, as they’d arrived. No.

With practiced nonchalance performed in an empty theatre, Remus flicked his wand, bringing a thrice-rewarmed mug of tea to his hand. He gingerly sipped once. Twice. He blinked his eyes three times, scratching his eyelid itch from the inside. Exhaled.

Setting the mug down with one hand, Remus grabbed at the fifth letter with the other.

_Lupin, Remus John, 18 Junction Lane, Wickham, Hampshire, Great Britain August 4th, 1977_

__

_Dear Moony,_

_Everybody’s worried about you. You haven’t been answering any of our letters. We’re not even sure if you’re getting them, because we went to your house—your old one, I mean—and you weren’t there. You don’t owe us anything, but if you’re getting this, please let us know you’re alright. We can set you up with a place to stay if you can’t keep the house. Or if you don’t want to._

_Padfoot told me about the letter he sent you. He isn’t sleeping. He’s been in a bad way since everything happened, but he’s getting worse. I know I shouldn’t be bringing his guilt to you. I don’t have the right._

_I still want you to know that it’s tearing him apart._

_He’ll wander for hours without saying a word. He’ll go outside and vanish at night, then come back in the morning and keep on walking around doing nothing. Wormtail and I take turns watching him, now, because we’re scared he’ll do something rash or run off forever. Peter says he’ll stand still or sit up in bed for hours, staring at nothing._

_I believe him._

_Sirius passes out eventually, and after that, he’s fine for a few days. Pete and I don’t know what to do. St. Mungo’s is out of the question. Getting him to talk to us about anything was hard before, before you two got close. Now, it’s impossible. I told him he should owl you again so he could talk about his feelings to someone. He said that he’s sent you more than ten letters, and he’s run out of ways to say everything differently._

_We never should’ve left you for a Full. Not with what happened last time. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but, hey, I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I know you don’t want another apology, so I won’t give you one.  
Everything’s so fucked up._

__

_Your Concerned Friends, Prongs, Padfoot, and Wormtail 5 Manor Drive, Guildford, Surrey, Great Britain_

Sip. Swallow. Wince.

Still too hot to drink.

Sip. Swallow. Wince.

Remus replaced the letter. He rubbed his face with both hands (a terrible habit, he’d have to wash again later) and stared at the wall. Anywhere was better than the desk. He sipped again. Swallowed. No wince.  
A few deep breaths later, Remus dove back in. The seventh letter awaited him.

_Lupin, Remus 18 Junction Lane, Wickham, Hampshire, Great Britain August 17th, 1977_

__

_Dear Remus,_

_James and Sirius kept sending you loads of letters, so I didn’t want to send you one and harass you more because I owled Dumbledore when they were panicking, and he said that you should be getting your mail, and I hope he’s telling the truth, because I don’t want to find out that you’re dead, too._

_Some muggles were taking all of the stuff out of your house and putting it into one of the truck things that Sirius is always going on about, so I guess you couldn’t keep the house, but James has the money to help you keep it, but I guess you didn’t want that, and anyway, if you don’t have a house, maybe you don’t have the Prophet, either, so I don’t know if you know how things are, now.’  
I’m scared, Remus. Everything’s getting bad, and not just us, either, everyone’s got it bad. I can’t remember if you knew Amelia Bones or not, because she might’ve had potions or something else with us, but she might’ve just been in a class with me and not you, and Death Eaters burned her home down and trapped them inside while it happened, and they’re saying that they’re all dead, her entire family._

_Someone had pictures._

_James is really upset because apparently Evans’s parents are both really sick and he says she wanted to take them to St. Mungo’s, but her sister took them to a muggle hospital and told the staff she was crazy so she can’t visit them or see them and James says she says that it’s not looking good._

_Maybe you should write her so you can tell her what to do, because you’re good at telling people what to do to make things better, but if you’re not feeling up to it, maybe you could write me back and tell me how to tell them if you’re not ready, because it’s not like planning a prank, because I’m good at that, but I just don’t know how to fix everything because it’s all way too big and there’s too many details._

_Sirius fixed himself, I think. He dragged a muggle loud bike thing into the house a couple days ago, and he spends a lot of time in a room with it, but he’s eating and sleeping okay now, and I wish I had his appetite, because James said I’ve been losing weight and that he was proud of me, but he was using that jokey tone and with everything going on I can’t really tell what he meant._

__

_Sincerely, Peter Pettigrew 16 Castle Way, Stamford, Lincolnshire, Great Britain_

Remus stretched, blank-faced, and leaned to place his now-empty mug on his bedside table. His ears flicked involuntarily (another terrible habit picked up from the woods) and started picking out sounds. They settled on the crickets chirping outside.

He stood up from his chair and took a half-step away from the desk—just to pop out for a breath or two of fresh air, just to listen to the crickets while he sipped too-hot tea, just to escape the sudden stuffiness of the cabin—but paused mid-stride.

The quiet cricketing chided him to sit back down and read the four bloody remaining letters over again. To write something back to them, to Lily at the least, unless he fancied reading them all over again.  
Remus listened. He deflated back into his seat and grabbed the sixth letter, Lily’s.

_Lupin, Remus 18 Junction Lane, Wickham, Hampshire, Great Britain August 9th, 1977_

__

_Remus,_

_I think I made a terrible mistake. A horrible, bad, awful, really bad mistake. I pulled some strings at St. Mungo’s and got my parents taken there because it became ‘a possibility’ that their illness was magical in nature. I’d figured they’d be diagnosed with some non-magical malady, cured, and on their way in a night, no matter Petunia’s chagrin._

_It’s not magical, but they can’t cure it. They’ve been trying everything they know, but nothing’s worked so far. We’re not out of options yet, but we’re getting close. I still have hope, though. It’s a hard thing to come by, these days, but you and I always talked about hope being its own little kind of magic._

_Petunia is seeing red. She knows so little about us, but the parts she knows—Azkaban, people going missing, the Kissed—they’re the atrocities. She thinks that I’m killing our parents by having them at St. Mungo’s. She thinks that someone is poisoning them or spelling them to keep them ill. She’s furious with me and she wants them taken back to a ‘proper’ medical establishment. I think I’m going to lose her forever, Remus._

_She blames me for them being so stressed out before they fell ill. She wanted me to decline their invitation to the wedding so that our parents wouldn’t get mad at her. She was afraid of us being evil wizards, or bringing evil wizards, or just being followed by them. I was so stuck in my own head and life that I refused._

_For some reason, I thought that she would just give up and let me come. Instead, she and our parents had a huge row. She hated me even more after that. She thinks that the stress took all the fight out of them, and that’s why they’re sick. I think she might be right._

_She doesn’t understand why magic can’t just fix them. She thinks that I’m holding out, or that everyone else is holding out on me. She doesn’t understand why this is happening to her, or my parents, and the worst part is that neither do I and you’re not here to help me because you’re the only person I know who would understand what I’m going through right now._

_I can’t help wondering if maybe a regular doctor could help them in a way we can’t. Or if there is something that can be done, but isn’t because of the risks. I know you can’t answer those questions, Remus, but I need someone to talk to. Can we meet somewhere, soon? It’s late, and I’m rambling and can hardly remember anything I’ve written just now._

_I hate Petunia so much for what she does, but I still can’t stand the thought of losing her. I feel like I’m going mad, Remus._

_We’re supposed to go mad together, you and I._

__

_Lily Evans 2, Spinner’s End, Cokeworth, Great Britain_

Tea left his mouth dry and tasting of ash, no matter how much or fast Remus drank.

Remus had told himself he didn’t know the right words (and it was true). He’d escaped away to a boring cabin and a forest in the Pyrenees because he’d had his own demons to deal with (and he had). He’d called his friends children many a day, oftentimes more than once a day, and said—in that terrible, lecturing tone of his—that he’d help clean up their mess later (and yet he had those left children alone).

Three more.

Remus reached for the first letter.

_Lupin, Remus John Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry June 13th, 1977_

__

_Mr. Lupin,_

_It is the Ministry’s obligation to inform you that sixteen minutes past nine o’clock this morning, June 13th, 1977, Aurors apparated to 18 Junction Lane, Wickham, Hampshire, after reports of that the Dark Mark had been seen above a muggle domicile. The structure on the property had suffered great damage, and, inside its remains, Aurors discovered Lyall and Hope Lupin, both unconscious. They were transported to and are currently at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, both in critical condition._

_While records show that you are currently not of age, you are the only living relative of Lyall and Hope Lupin; as a result, you retain full control over their medical treatment. For this reason, it is advisable that you arrive at St. Mungo’s in a timely manner._

_The majority of the destruction of the property itself has been reversed; if you require additional services from the Ministry with reference to your property, please do not hesitate to contact us. If you require assistance, or are otherwise unable to transport yourself to St. Mungo’s Hospital or the Ministry, please contact us and arrangements can be made._

__

_Best regards, Rufus Scrimgeour Auror Office, Ministry of Magic_

No stopping. Two more.

Remus picked up the second letter.

_Lupin, Remus John Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry June 15th, 1977_

__

_Mr. Lupin,_

_We regret to inform you that fifteen minutes before four o’clock this afternoon, Lyall Lupin succumbed to his injuries sustained two days prior despite the best efforts St. Mungo’s staff. Eighteen minutes later, Hope Lupin succumbed in similar fashion. I have been assured by St. Mungo’s staff that they did not suffer unduly._

_You have our sincerest condolences, Mr. Lupin. As you have not yet responded to our letter or visited St. Mungo’s Hospital in person, we will be sending a representative to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to guide you through the processes following the death of Lyall and Hope Lupin._

_If you require additional information or services from the Ministry, please do not hesitate to contact us._

__

_Best regards, Rufus Scrimgeour_

Remus made a neat pile from the seven read letters. With practiced hands, he lifted the fourth letter from the table. With unpracticed hands blindly reaching out for the bedside table, he managed to overturn his tea mug onto the rug beside his bed.

_Lupin, Remus John July 30th_

__

_Dear Remus,_

_I do hope your stay with the Matriarchs has been enjoyable so far. I imagine that the wounds are still fresh for you, so I will not pry, but I must express again the sorrows I felt when I became aware of your circumstances this past June. I can only hope that the time away in a safe, homely location has brought you solace and time to reflect, if not a sense of peace._

_The Denmothers were most kind when they allowed you to stay with them this summer, and I expect that you’ve been affording them the utmost respect despite your circumstances. I implore you to make the most of your time there, as this is an opportunity of which many have dreamed but very few could ever hope to entertain. Should you have already accomplished what I have asked you to do, then I encourage you to enjoy the rest of your summer holiday however you wish._

_If not, then please do consider the limited time that you have remaining. It is imperative that you follow my instructions exactly, as well as those of the Denmothers, as a second opportunity will not be available until the following summer at the soonest. In such ephemeral times, it would be wise to grasp what one currently has within, else lose hold of it forever. It is, I imagine, entirely possible that the Denmothers will not be receiving guests, should times take a further turn towards the dark. Please do make haste, Remus._

_I expect you will reply in your own time. Simply pass your letter onto one of the Denmothers, and I should receive your response in a few days. If I do not reply immediately, do not be distraught; I find myself with less and less time to spare with each passing day, and yet conversely more and more a need for it._

__

_Yours, Albus Dumbledore Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Remus stood suddenly and made for the door. Swinging it open, he doubled over, dry-heaving, panting, rivulets of sweat gluing his shaggy hair to his forehead—the panic wracking his body and adrenaline flooding his veins was a fire Remus had never tamed. One hand on the inside of the frame where his nails had dug grooves, one on the outside where he’d cracked the frame, he held onto the doorway for dear life like a broom in a thunderstorm.

The drone of the crickets numbed Remus to time. Yet, still, an eternity later, he straightened his back and did small arithmetic in his head until his breathing matched his back—even and steady, if somewhat shaky. Every instinct he had compelled him to run into the forest, to find someone in camp and forget about the letters until sunrise. He could even just come back, lay in bed, read a good book, and forget about them until tomorrow. 

Remus slammed the cabin door—followed instantly by a murmured apology.

He wasn’t being fair to the cabin.

He wasn’t being fair to anyone.

At a snail’s pace, he crept towards the desk. His muscles tensed with every pace forward. His itching eyes watched the stack of letters with the intensity a mother watching her child play with a large hound.

The scraping sound of the chair legs against the floor were panicked screams in Remus’ ears. He set out a blank length of parchment. Yet, the quiet skritching of his quill was soothing.

Minutes later, he gloomed over his rushed work. He’d cheated. They’d probably prefer if he’d done nothing at all. Crumpling up the parchment or burning it would be so easy.

Remus pushed out his chair, carefully rolled up the letter (his letter) and tied it up with a bit of string, not risking wax. He strode out the door.

A few seconds later, he backed up into the cabin. Flicked his wand. Shards of (now cold) porcelain floated back together until a re-formed mug sat on Remus’ bedside table. He gave the mug a slight nod before departing once more.

_Evans, Lily, Whom I Don’t Deserve as a Friend, 2, Spinner’s End, Cokeworth, Great Britain August 25th, 1977_

__

_Dear Lily,_

_Am the worst friend. Don’t even deserve to be called your friend anymore. Am an unfriend._

_Was, too, stuck in my head for a lot of the summer. Had things that needed to be done. Am not making excuses, but admitting fault goes hand in hand with explanation. Will be back at the start of the term, and if we both haven’t lost our minds by then, I promise the first thing I’ll do is help you figure out what to do about your parents and sister._

_Even though it wasn’t really your intent, Lily, you’ve no idea how glad I am you wrote me. You have this uncanny way of helping people, even when they don’t expect or deserve it. Am sure that if there’s one person who can make the best of the worst, it’s you, Lily._

_Hope is magic, after all._

__

_Cheers, Remus South of France_


	2. Any Port

A ghost of a smile haunted the train porter’s youthful (if unusually pale) face as he took Remus’s luggage. It was supposed to be friendly, even accommodating, but the Kissed had never failed to set Remus’s teeth hatching, and his months away in the Pyrenees only served to remind Remus of how alien they could be in their pliancy. 

Or, perhaps the spider up Remus’s back came from the porter’s close-cut dark curls. In another life, they might’ve framed the porter’s face in messy cascades like a certain someone he had seen and swiftly ducked behind a pillar to avoid just moments ago.

The porter gave a gentle tug on Remus’s luggage to break it free from the werewolf’s grasp, and turned away without a word. Remus excused himself with a quiet thank you—a useless gesture to the Kissed—and boarded the train, thanking Merlin the porter hadn’t had Sirius’s grey eyes. 

Finding an abandoned cabin to seclude himself proved frighteningly easy. 

More families each year had been withdrawing their children from Hogwarts. As a half measure—for safety, and from what Remus assumed about educative systems, for keeping attendance within ministry requirements—those travelling great distances or with other appropriate circumstances would arrive just outside the castle grounds by Portkey. 

Remus had declined that option. As much as parents (and guardians too, he supposed) had pulled away from the wizarding world, so too had parents pushed for their children to spend more and more time away from home. Sixth year had set a record for students staying during winter holidays. 

Aurors were a familiar yet fleeting sight at Hogwarts, and people, on average, were smarter than Remus thought they were often given credit. Most had put two and two together: Hogwarts was as safe a place as one could hope to keep their loved ones.

So, the train would be safest for Remus, although safety in getting to school shouldn’t, Remus felt, have been something a seventeen-year-old student should have to consider at all.

There was neither knock nor peek in the remaining half hour it took for the train to finish boarding. In the hour that followed, Remus saw only giggling first-years flit by the foggy glass doors in short-legged sprints. Their cloaks billowed on a youthful breeze despite the beginnings of an autumn storm outside.

The nostalgia warmed him enough for a smile and to remind him that, amid all his other preoccupations, he was a prefect and this was a moving train, thank you, so he should probably do something to curb their infectious enthusiasm.

Moreover, any excuse to move towards the prefect’s meeting would be welcome. Sirius, James, and Peter had made one and only one exception (or, well, one and half in James’s case) regarding their attitude on prefects. Magnets from two different poles. He’d be safe a little while longer, and he’d been meaning to talk to Lily.

Even if Remus hadn’t figured out yet how to help her.

Remus was by no means an accomplished healer, as others had always handled the aftermath of his transformations when he was littler, and, after that, he’d had few injuries greater than a scrape here and a bruise there. Still, Madame Pomfrey was the most accomplished healer he knew, so he reasoned that he should ask her and until then provide emotional support.

As for how to talk with Petunia, Remus had pored over a list of his colleagues and found many an only child and a disturbing lack of healthy familial relationships, so he resolved to ask a professor about that too. In truth, Remus knew precious little about any of his professors. At least one of them, however, must have had a sibling at some point, unless there was an eldritch induction ceremony for Hogwarts professors no one knew about.

It was a plan with few moving parts and little that could go wrong, which is why, when Remus opened the door to the prefect’s carriage and found himself staring at James Potter side-by-side with Lily, Remus chided himself for not realizing that it was guaranteed to go wrong.

Thunder rumbled as Remus slid the door shut behind him.

“All right, Remus,” said James with a nod. His head swiveled back to the twenty-two other prefects crowded gawking before him and, perhaps to make a curt point, cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all here,” he continued, “I’m going to take roll, and then I suggest Evans takes the floor because I’m very out of my depth doing anything else.”

“Cheers, Remus,” whispered a tall, willowy witch at the crowd’s rear with the beginnings of an afro, whom Remus did not recognize. “Great to know I’m not the only late one here.”

“I’m known for my dramatic entrances,” whispered Remus. Suppressing a frown, he added, “I like your make-up.”

“Ahem,” called Lily, snapping Remus’s head forwards. “If I could please have your undivided attention. Over the summer, I coordinated with two of our graduated prefects, Frank Longbottom and Mary Macdonald, as well as our previous Head Girl, Marlene McKinnon, to retain our scheduling and patrol systems for this year.”

“Was that before or after the Headmaster made you queen?” called a heckler from the front. Donovan was as tall and broad-shouldered as he was rebellious and pig-headed. Excellent qualities for a prefect, although, in fairness, Remus hadn’t known Donovan to torment anyone since becoming one in fifth year.

“Shove it, Cromwell,” said a shorter Irish witch beside him. “Er, not you, Anthony—your brother, I mean.”

“Thank you, Imogen,” said Lily, voice raised a notch. With practiced nonchalance, she flicked her wand, and a stack of papers began distributing themselves among the prefects completed with well-creased folds. “Now, while I am queen,” started Lily, teasing, “I’ll be overthrown in a week, when we have our first proper meeting. Until then, seventh and sixth-year teams will be paired with one fifth-year prefect to observe and train, and I’ve taken the liberty of including that with your schedules.”

“Are the teams the same as last year, Evans?” asked Anthony, a bookish boy with the same height and tawny hair as his twin brother, but a slighter build. 

“We can’t well do that,” muttered Regulus, who thankfully hadn’t taken much notice of Remus. “People have graduated.”

Lily put up a hand to quiet them. “We also have an odd number of prefects this year,” she said, and the frustrated edge underlying her voice cut at Remus’s ear. “First, however, there are a few announcements, if there are no questions that must be answered immediately.”

Remus caught the click-of-tongue following someone opening their mouth, but a well-placed elbow by Imogen silenced them.

“Wonderful,” said Lily. “Just like last year, we will have two Aurors visiting and patrolling the boundary between the castle and the Forbidden Forest, and the Headmaster has asked that we make sure the younger students don’t bother them with trivial matters.” A general assent came from the crowd, so Lily continued, “Additionally, per the request of the Headmaster, and schedule permitting, no team of prefects will be paired from the same house this year—”

“Oh, that’s rotten!” started a newcomer, one of the fifth years.

“Merlin’s sake!” cried a Scottish witch seated by the edge of the carriage. “Could we all shut it for one second, let her finish one bloody sentence without interruption?” After a brief pause, she added, “Please?”

“Thank you,” said Lily, terse, “Megan. Now, some of you already know, but Emily Leach was withdrawn from Hogwarts this year, and we’ll miss her dedication and cheerful disposition dearly.” There came of smattering of nods and tuts from the room. “However, we also have a new transfer student arriving this year from the _Académie de Sorciellement Tibhirine_ in Algeria,” said Lily with careful enunciation, “who, as I understand it, was also a prefect or equivalent. Please, everyone, give a warm welcome to Eleanor Willows.”

Remus swiveled his head left and right as he and the others applauded, only for the tall witch beside him to part the crowd and stand beside Lily. A pause filled with only the clatter of rain on the train’s roof followed as Lily and Eleanor to exchange furtive glances, both willing the other to say something. Yet, when Eleanor opened her mouth to address the crowd, a screeching keen filled the carriage and several students (Remus included) tumbled over as the train made an abrupt stop.

As students were untangled and Remus thanked the seventh-year disposition to not don their robes until the last moment possible, a ringing air of confusion grew louder outside the prefect’s carriage.

“Please find your partners,” called Lily, tone measured even in a crisis, “as well as your assigned fifth year, and let’s go calm everyone down. Remember! No one steps a foot off the train!”

Remus spotted a familiar name listed for his partner. Eleanor glanced up from her paper to meet his eyes with a warm nod, and, across the room mouthed their assigned partner, whom, to his embarrassment, Remus didn’t know.

Catching his flush, Eleanor raised her voice and shouted, “Who’s Margaret Morley?” 

“Right here!” called a stocky witch with a beater’s build and dark curls under a fisherman’s cap.

“Fantastic,” said Eleanor, leading the younger witch over to Remus. “Come on then!” she cried, moving for the back half of the train, but not before grinning at Remus and adding, “I think I beat you on the dramatic entrance.”

“I’ve been thoroughly upstaged,” said Remus, who wished he was still in the Pyrenees.

Lily received no further questions as prefects poured out of the room.

Remus, Eleanor, and Margaret overtook the deluge of prefects in a matter of minutes despite their late start. This was due in part to their collective athleticism, although none of them truly looked the part. Eleanor’s absurdly long legs, Margaret’s quiet endurance, and Remus’s furry little secret were subtle advantages, but the biggest advantage afforded to them was the reckless abandon with which Eleanor charged forward and Remus’s beaten-down reluctancy to resist a strong leader.

The term hadn’t quite begun and as such there were no points to dock—not to mention the first years, many of whom did not understand points and all of whom had no assigned house. Thankfully, however, the majority of students glued themselves to their compartment windows, staring out at the relative gloom of the Scottish countryside and attempting to spot anything interesting in the heavy autumn rainfall.

As far as students had said so far, no one was unaccounted for, save for a misplaced toad or someone off to the loo. Eleanor’s looming presence coaxed tacit agreement from the more inquisitive few Ravenclaws, while the good will Remus had constructed with rebellious students—ones who tended to frequent the same circles as James, Sirius, and Peter—helped convince them to stay put until a professor or an Auror arrived.

All in all, Eleanor only had to claim to be the new Defense professor once. She’d timed her words with the distant thunder, which had thoroughly convinced her audience.

Margaret had remained quiet and observed for the most part (which, Remus supposed, is exactly what Lily instructed the fifth-years to do). Her muted reactions were a welcome foil to Eleanor’s bravado, but years with Sirius had given Remus a discerning eye for storms brewing.

Unfortunately, years with Sirius hadn’t also given Remus a good way of dealing with those storms. For the moment, Margaret’s head counts remained accurate, so Remus set it aside.

Only one carriage (mostly-deserted, as it had been when Remus had inhabited it earlier) remained before the luggage compartment, but a number of small terrors grew inside Remus like insects under his scalp. He hadn’t yet encountered Sirius and Peter, which unsettled him, given their practiced laziness and refusal to cross through the prefect’s carriage. Seeing them here would be unpleasant, but the alternative worried Remus more.

Then, there was the lack of Aurors or professors encountered, despite the train having been stopped for nearly ten minutes. Worries wrestled in his head like stags, dogs, and werewolves, casting every imaginable horror out of the brawl.

Perhaps the train had been taken by dark wizards and they were all about to die.

Perhaps someone had discovered his secret and Aurors would take him away to Azkaban.

Perhaps Sirius, James, and Peter had done some awful prank and Remus would be expelled with them.

Remus slid open a compartment door and popped his head in, which dispelled some of his fears and grew new ones in his place, as Peter looked up from a textbook and blinked twice at Remus, as though the werewolf wasn’t truly there.

“Hullo, Peter,” said Remus, making eye contact with the rain and countryside and anything except Peter, “is Padfoot in the loo?”

The heavy clattering rain filled the compartment as Peter’s brow furrowed, relaxed, and furrowed again. “Hi Remus,” he started, parsing his words slowly. “Are you a prefect right now?”

“I think so,” replied Remus, “yes, because there might be an emergency.”

“Might be?”

“I don’t quite know, if I’m honest.”

“If you’re a prefect, then I don’t know where Sirius is,” replied Peter, staring back down at his textbook. “He’s not in the loo, though.”

Remus winced as lightning flashed outside the window. “If he’s still on the train, that’s good enough.”

“I’m sorry, Remus, I don’t know where—”

“Peter,” interrupted Remus, “I’m sorry for not writing you back.”

Rain clattered and Peter clapped shut his textbook. “Padfoot said he was going for a smoke off the back of the train.”

“Thank you, Peter,” called Remus, closing the compartment behind himself. He winced again as he saw Margaret stood quiet in the hall, observing from under her fisherman’s cap, but in an unspoken agreement, both agreed to pretend that nothing was happening with the other. Remus rather liked Margaret, for that.

“Why isn’t,” called Eleanor from the back of the carriage, “the luggage compartment locked? Are you all just that trusting?” Then, after a pause, she added, “Or are prefects just keyed in, which would also be odd?”

Remus crouched by the handle and frowned at the series of light scratches by the frame. “Please trust me when I say this isn’t as serious as it sounds,” Remus started, “but the lock’s been picked with a knife.”

“Pardon me, Remus?” asked Eleanor. “Are you a detective?”

“Yes,” replied Remus, “I’m also close with several anarchists. Shall I lead the way?”

Eleanor gave a sharp laugh and a snort. “By all means, chase after the knife-wielding maniac,” she began, “on the stopped train in a thunderstorm. I’ll be right behind you.”

Behind the two, Margaret cleared her throat. “Sorry to add to the pile of problems,” she said, sliding the last empty compartment shut, “but I know at least one more student isn’t where they should be.”

“How do you know that, Morley?” asked Remus.

“Because I left my sister here when I left for the meeting,” said Margaret, “and she’ll barely put down her books to eat.”

“And,” Remus continued, connecting the pieces in his brain, “you’re certain you didn’t see her on the way here.”

“Correct.”

“Do you two want to double-check?”

Eleanor cocked her head to the side. “And leave you here alone with the knife-wielding maniac?”

“Point taken,” said Remus. “Hopefully your sister is…” 

“…with the knife-wielding maniac,” Margaret finished. “She’s only eleven.”

“He’s not dangerous,” explained Remus, “and in all fairness, it’s only a penknife.”

“You go first,” said Eleanor.

“I go first,” replied Remus.

There were lights in the luggage compartment, and they did not flicker. In previous years Remus had snuck through to the back of the train (at Sirius’s request), but the rattle of rain and the stillness of the train gave it a stagnant, eerie air and cluttered Remus’s ears. Worse still, the storm’s wet cold leaked in through the walls and open caboose door, worsened by the comfy warmth of the passenger compartments behind him.

Remus kept his wand lowered. He was no duelist, and firing off a panicked spell at a shadow in the luggage compartment would spell disaster for everyone involved, as although there were fewer and fewer students each year, each student brought, understandably, more and more. Fewer Hogsmeade visits (for those still given permission by their parents) and holidays at Hogwarts necessitated it.

Lightning flashed through the open caboose door, and yet Remus saw no curly-haired boy perched over the railing with a cigarette.

A familiar musky scent crept over Remus’s keen nose as he inched forward, however, and dispelled the eeriness as quickly as it put fire flushing his cheeks. Ducking his head back, Remus whispered, “Eleanor, could you take Morley to wait outside a moment?”

“What?” whispered Eleanor with a frown. “What do you see?”

“It’s not what I currently see,” replied Remus, tapping his nose, “it’s, well—it’s something she oughtn’t.”

“Got,” said Eleanor, swiveling, “it.”

Remus waited for the pair to exit, then, in short sequence, cleared his throat, raised his voice, and called, “Sirius?”

A thud cut through the rain-rattle as a few unfortunate luggage cases were overturned. “Give us a—”

“Understood,” Remus interrupted, turning his back and waiting for the fumbling and clinking of belt-buckles to subside. “The train’s stopped,” Remus called, wincing, “although you probably gathered as much, but we’re asking everyone to return to their compartments until further instruction.”

“Right,” called Sirius. After another moment, he stepped out from behind a rack of loose luggage, long curls messier than usual and pale cheeks slightly flushed. Still with that same haughty poise. “Right.”

“Is there a—did you see anyone else down this way? A younger girl, dark hair, probably with a book or two?”

“No, sorry. Only us,” replied Sirius. Then, after a pause, he began, “Remus—”

“I’m going to,” said Remus, gesturing over his shoulder, “go now.”

Sirius’s reply was cut down by a high-pitched shrieking that rattled Remus’s bones, followed by a muffled cry that came from the carriage behind them. In the second it took for their bodies to unclench, Remus deputized Sirius with his eyes. Sirius nodded.

Wordlessly, they both doubled back for the passenger carriage in time to see Eleanor climbing out the (now-open) train door.

“Morley, wait!” cried Eleanor, ducking her head on her way out. 

Margaret was nowhere to be seen. 

Lily was going to have him expelled for negligence, presuming he survived.

Sirius took hold of Remus’s sleeve, and out into the storm they ran.

Remus landed afoul of flat ground, and his shoes were swallowed in mud. He sputtered and cursed himself for letting his hair grow out shaggy as it whipped about his face and blinded him in the howling wind. Sirius, landing both better and being more experienced with the perils of long hair, flourished his wand and conjured a faint screen around them. The wind stilled in Remus’s jumper, the icy needlepoints of rain stopped stabbing into his skin, and, a moment later, Remus had the most curious sensation of being underwater.

Through the refracted screen and its rivulets of rainwater, Remus saw the blurred figures of Eleanor and Margaret a short distance away, still and unharmed, as well as a third tiny witch clutching Margaret’s side whom he surmised to be Margaret’s sister. Thunder boomed, muffled, but louder than it had been on the train. Sirius evened his breathing—loud and clear, within the screen—and pointed his wand skyward, forming a simple screen umbrella. The first rush of wind chilled Remus to the core and pulled the breath from his lungs.

His breath did not return when, further down from Eleanor, Margaret, and Margaret’s sister, a set of tattered black cloaks glided along the train, quieting the storm around them and heralding slow-forming ice.

Sirius’s umbrella sputtered and rain began to fall on Remus again, but the sting of the rain was a familiar friend, by then—the world of warmth and comfort grew further distant, until Remus could no longer remember what it had felt like to be inside the train.

Some part of him, a part more aware than the rest, howled for him to move and get back on the train as the Dementors continued their silent approach. Yet, Remus’s body resisted. Even if he thought it an option, he couldn’t shift—he had seen small rodents hypnotized before the eyes of a garden snake before, when he was littler and unaware of why animals acted as they did. Perhaps this dread and emptiness was the same felt by those garden rats.

Perhaps, Remus thought, it wouldn’t be so awful to become one of the Kissed.

A hovering ball of silvery light coalesced in the air before Margaret, her sister, and Eleanor. Cold surged up Remus’s fingertips, shocking him awake, as the silver light took on the form of a wild boar.

Beside him, Sirius staggered and crouched to collect his muddied wand.

“We can’t leave them there!” cried Remus, drawing his wand. He knew the theory behind the charm, of course, but his confidence wavered as his mind drew blank searching for a strong memory. Margaret turned her head, spotting Remus and calling out, her words choked out by the storm raging about them. Sirius waved his arm to beckon her forward.

They retreated only a few steps before the cold returned to Remus. Spinning around, he saw yet another Dementor silently gliding around the train’s caboose.

Leveling his wand and willing his teeth to stop chattering, Remus called, _“Expecto Patronum!”_

Nothing came.

Remus took a half-step in front of Sirius and repeated, _“Expecto Patronum!”_

Yet still nothing came.

As the adrenaline began to freeze in Remus’s veins again and defeat set in, he wracked his brain for ideas. Eleanor couldn’t send her Patronus to them without exposing herself and the others, but perhaps they could run, or try again—there had to have been something he was missing, an idea or solution that he was forgetting.

Remus had tried very little and found himself out of ideas. 

“Sirius,” whispered Remus, “please shift and run.”

Sirius, never one to heed instruction, squeezed Remus’s hand, and a little warmth returned to the world. 

In the corner of Remus’s transfixed eyes, the dark-haired porter stepped off of the train and into the frozen mud underfoot. Despite the raging winds and needling rain, the same ghostly smile rested on the porter’s face as he crossed to the intervening space between Remus and the Dementor.

The porter was childlike, standing before the Dementor, and yet also much like a child, the porter took its hand and began to lead it away with little care for the world around them.

“Oh, my goodness!” cried a bald witch from the train. As the porter and Dementor vanished about the caboose, Remus’s eyes snapped to the bald witch, who was preceded by a floating silver lobster. She resembled a very old scarecrow being worn by a very smooth mannequin. On an instinctive level, she disquieted Remus. On a reasonable level, however, Remus recognized a savior when he encountered one, so he nodded as she added, “Oh, my word! Are you all right?”

“Others,” cried Sirius, pointing in Eleanor’s direction.

“Thank you, young man!” said the bald witch. With a gesture of her wand, her lobster Patronus swam through the storm while she beckoned to both Remus and Sirius. “Back on the train, both of you, now,” she said, waving her free hand, and a gentle force began to propel the two forward as she stepped into the mud. “I’ll be with you in but a moment.”

Remus and Sirius clambered back onto the train and collapsed in a pile of shaking knees and chattering teeth. Awaiting them were the short Imogen Steele and tall Donovan Cromwell, whom Remus assumed had chosen the intelligent option of fetching an authority figure instead of leaping in harm’s way nose-first. Behind them was a gaping fifth-year witch whose name Remus couldn’t remember.

“It’s bloody lashing out there,” said Imogen, furious and wrapping a thick woolen blanket about Sirius’s shoulders, “and you lot decide to hop off the train? Off your yonkers, are you?”

“Let’s save the bollocking for later, Steele,” said Donovan with a frown. When Remus’s shaking hands flubbed a Hot-Air Charm for the second time, Donovan performed it for him with surprising precision, and stepped close again to wrap a blanket about Remus. Yet, Donovan lingered, which Remus neither encouraged—given his very recent brush with death—nor wholly ignored. 

“The Defense professor mentioned Dementors,” said Imogen, ignoring Donovan. “Is it true? Did you see them?”

“That’s the Defense professor?” asked Sirius, aghast. He had shifted opposite Remus in the corridor, and Remus away from him, too, as the reminders of their mortality passed again.

“Aye,” replied Imogen. “At first, I thought she was an Auror, from the look of her, but—”

“I am an Auror, young lady,” called the bald witch. She boarded the increasingly-cramped carriage with both Eleanor, Margaret, and her sister in tow, all, to Remus’s relief, apparently unharmed. “And might I add, your help has been most invaluable. Would you kindly find some chocolate for these poor students, Miss…?”

“Steele,” said Imogen. “Right away, professor.”

“Excellent,” said the Defense professor. “Perhaps it would be wise if you joined her, Donovan.”

“Ah—yes,” said Donovan. He pulled his hand from Remus’s back and gestured to their assigned fifth-year trainee, adding, “Come along, then.”

As the carriage door slid shut with a thud, the dull tampering of rain filled the silence. Remus became acutely aware of his heavy breathing and Sirius’s eyes darting on-and-away from his face. Eleanor’s impenetrable confidence had wavered, and poor Margaret looked as though she’d become a ghost on the spot. Her sister’s face was buried in Margaret’s robes. 

“I will spare you five a lecture,” said the Defense professor, “as I realize an encounter with a Dementor is perhaps more dire a warning than I could ever hope to give.” She adjusted the crook of her burlap hat, which Remus realized had stuck firm to her bald head despite the storm outside, before continuing, “Yet, I cannot emphasize enough that your actions—however heroic you intended them to be—put not only you, but your colleagues in grave danger.”

“I understand, professor,” said Remus and Sirius together.

“Might I be correct to assume you both belong to House Gryffindor?” asked the Defense professor. When both Sirius and Remus met her words with a nod, she grimaced and said, “Then I’m afraid that, at the start of term, I must dock fifty points for the recklessness of your actions.”

Remus recoiled, which he recognized was an absurd reaction, but shock, he assumed, had odd effects on everyone. Sirius—no stranger to lost points, and, arguably, equally in shock—didn’t flinch.

“Miss Willows,” said the Defense professor, level with Eleanor, “for your outstanding use of the Patronus Charm, I will spare Slytherin such a penalty, but request that you meet with me in my office at your soonest convenience.” 

“Of course, professor,” whispered Eleanor.

Ducking her head and furrowing her eyebrowless-brows, the Defense professor crouched to inspect Margaret and her sister. “You look very pale, young lady,” she said. “Might I ask what compelled both of you to abandon the train?”

Margaret’s sister broke out sobbing and clutched tighter to Margaret, who managed only a whisper muffled by the tampering rain.

“Pardon me?” asked the Defense professor.

“She thought she saw our brother,” repeated Margaret, hoarse. “While she was reading, he passed by her compartment, and so she went looking.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” said the Defense professor. Remus shuffled away, feeling suddenly as though he was an intruder spying on someone’s fresh scars. Sirius and Eleanor mimicked his shuffling.

“Our brother was Kissed late last year,” whispered Margaret, growing paler. “He was—he’s the porter who led that Dementor away from Remus and the other boy.”

“I see,” said the Defense professor. A shadow fell across her smooth features and silence across the carriage as Remus and Eleanor stilled, while Sirius made a choked noise. After a pause, she added, “I cannot imagine how difficult that must have been for the both of you. Please, come away with me, now—someplace warmer and drier, and far more private.” Turning to Remus and the others, the Defense professor straightened and blinked. “Ah, my apologies for a lack of introductions. I am—”

The train began just as it had stopped, abruptly with the screech of metal and by throwing Remus into his fellow students. The sudden motion ripped another shrieking sob from Margaret’s sister, and the Defense professor ushered both her and Margaret out of the carriage as the train gained momentum.

The door slid shut with a gentle thud.

“I didn’t catch her name,” said Eleanor.

“Nor did I,” said Remus.

“Speaking of,” said Eleanor, ducking her head to meet Sirius’s height and offering a hand, “Eleanor Willows, transfer student. You must be Remus’s knife-wielding friend?”

“Sirius Black,” said Sirius, still perturbed. Sirius had never been one for lasting shock, not in most cases, which worried Remus. What worried Remus more, however, was his fretting over a boy with whom he hadn’t exchanged words since before he’d left for the Pyrenees. 

“I’m going to go have a lay down,” said Remus, "and wait for the others to return with chocolates."

“And I’m going to go give the abridged version of this to our Head Girl,” said Eleanor. Extricating herself before yet another soon-to-be-painful conversation sprung up around her was her priority, Remus assumed. 

With the bang of the carriage door, she was gone.

“Remus,” started Sirius, dropping his haughty air.

“Please, Sirius,” interrupted Remus, squeezing at his temples. “I don’t—I’ve the energy to do little more, tonight, but there’s still so much to do,” he explained, dread blossoming across his worn face, “and we’ll talk, I promise.”

“But not tonight?”

“But not tonight.” 

“Okay,” said Sirius, quiet. “You promise?”

“I promise,” said Remus. “Goodnight, Padfoot.” In the pause where Remus should’ve shuffled to his compartment—which, Remus realized, was only meters from Sirius and Peter’s own compartment—the full chronology of the evening’s events struck Remus like a torrent of water from a broken dam. So, Remus looked up from his feet, met Sirius’s eyes, and said, “Padfoot?”

“Yes, Remus?”

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

“I’m glad you’re alive, too, Remus,” said Sirius. They swapped middling smiles, earnest in their fatigue, before Remus sequestered himself away for a nap and prayed for a short Sorting before the feast.

And, though Remus kept his promise, he would not do so for nearly two months.


End file.
